


Stranded

by eyeslikerain



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Just fluff basically, M/M, and some more fluff, the good old "stranded in snow"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 22:30:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17272367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikerain/pseuds/eyeslikerain
Summary: Charles chimed in:„Aren‘t you bored to death?“Francis raised an eyebrow to me and replied:„Actually, no. We are amusing ourselves just fine. Richard has got hidden talents“ - with that, he covered my crotch with one hand - „we never heard about.“





	Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> One more messy one-shot, not necessarily in line with my other fics. If you want some sort of narrative arc, you could start with "The Garden of Enchantment" and then read "A Sleigh Ride" before this. Sorry for the chaos, but I can't stop shipping Francis and Richard!

„Francis, we come back on Sunday, don‘t we?“

„Yep“, I heard Francis muffled voice. He bent into the backseat and arranged the bag with my books and writing things next to his. His tousled locks appeared again, face pale in the grey winter morning, and he asked: „Why?“

„Is someone else coming along?“ I still looked incredulously into the trunk, my weekend bag in my hands.

„No, it‘s just you and me. The Montreal-gang!“ he beamed. I smirked, remembering our trip in autumn. A dream from happier, carefree times. He came around the car and waited next to me. „So?“

„I was just wondering“ - I started, trying to shift the three large elegant suitcases in the trunk to make room for my pliable bag. He gave me a hand and shoved the fine leather cases to the side.

„Is that all you have?“, he asked.

„Actually, yes. Is that all your‘s then?“

„Yes.“ He looked at me innocently, not grasping my growing amusement. I tried to suppress a smile, but ended with a lopsided grin. Hoping not to offend him, I lowered my head and tried to stuff my simple bag next to it‘s luxurious cousins. 

„So, where‘s your suitcase? Still inside?“ He looked back at Monmouth house. A chilly wind played with his curls and he shuddered.

„I don‘t need a suitcase for two nights. Darling“ , I ended ironically.

„Are you sure? It‘s supposed to get cold, you know that?“

I nodded.

„Where‘s your sweaters? Boots? A warmer coat?“

The truth was: I already wore the only pair of warmer shoes I owned and one of my three sweaters. My vintage Harris tweed coat would have to do, alongside a thicker scarf.

„I‘ll be fine“, I said, closing the trunk.

„Do you have mittens?“

„Yes, mom, I do.“ Camilla had given me beautiful, very warm mittens for christmas. They rested in my other bag.

„Come on, get in, we don‘t have all day!“, Francis grinned good-humouredly while he got behind the wheel. I slid in beside him, glad to escape the cold northern air that was obviously making it‘s way in our spheres. Not the best weather for a weekend trip, but what can you expect at the end of February? The car started with a soft purr and Francis turned the heating on high.

„You sure you don‘t want to get anything else? Clothes-wise, I mean?“

„No, I‘ll be good.“ I fastened my seat belt and he handed me a crumpled map and his pack of cigarettes: 

„Here, you navigate. Light me a cigarette, would you? Well, the pleasures of travelling with a Californian boy… Always warm, never needing extra layers… I bet you didn‘t bring a hair dryer?“

I made a funny face to amuse him. I was amused.

„I see. Always letting that gorgeous hair dry naturally in golden summer breezes.“ I raised my eyebrows and we exchanged a smirk. „Well, unfortunately, I‘m not as lucky as you. My good looks need a fair bit of work behind the scenes“ - he set the blinker and looked carefully before turning onto one of Hampden‘s larger arterial roads - „ and since I wear my hair longer, it just needs some more maintenance, you know.“ I watched him silently from the side. His delicate profile was surrounded by magnificent soft curls. He had started to let his copper hair grow over christmas. It almost reached his chin and looked better than ever.

„I like your longer hair, by the way“, I said matter-of-factly, not looking at him and sounding indifferent.

„Do you?“, he almost swerved while sending me a happy glance. „Oh, sorry!“ He gripped the wheel tighter. I smiled inwardly. Our hidden dance continued… Before christmas, I had been uncertain about the nature of our tacit and secret flirting. I was not sure if I saw more in Francis‘s innocent teasing as there was to it, and I was too repressed to respond to it, especially when the others were around. So I usually reacted oafish and awkward, hating myself for it afterwards. Francis, with his worldy manners, his French, his easy-going nature, deserved a better partner for those games. I feared he might turn away from me someday – the feeling giving me a sharp, incising pain. I had analyzed this, over and over again in my head, on too many pages of my diary, until I allowed me to realize: I really cared for him. I liked him and wanted to be liked by him. Seeing him turn his attentions onto someone else would kill me.

Since christmas, after my horrible illness and everything connected with it, matters had started to change. Maybe my close shave with death had shown me how little time we have on earth. Maybe Francis had realized he almost had lost me. Anyway: we found ourselves on a new level of affection and sought a different way to show it. Fuelled by Francis‘s advanced attempts at flirtation, I gave in and, to my surprise, found myself able to respond in kind. So much so that the others, Bunny especially, were exhausted by our playfulness and asked us to tone it down. We risked real, meaningful looks. We graced each other, found excuses to pick something off each other‘s clothes, didn‘t draw our hands back liked burned should we happen to touch each other. In short: we were in a state in which it was hard to keep our hands from each other, even if nothing more had happened until now.

My heart leaped when Francis had asked me if I‘d fancy another trip with him to Montreal. I felt like shouting out loud inwardly while I answered coolly: „Yes, why not? Let‘s do it!“ We were still hiding from each other, dancing around eggs – that‘s why his violent reaction to my tiny compliment about his hair, his almost swerving on the bank, made me so happy. We both looked straight on, but I beamed inwardly. He did the same, I guess. I risked a sideways look – yes, he was looking at me. Somewhat very happy. I blinked. He averted his face a bit too fast and concentrated on the road again.

 

The car had started to get warmer once we had turned onto the interstate and drove at a higher speed. I folded the map:

„You know your way, don‘t you?“

„Yes, basically. Maybe you could just help me at the end, to get the right exit and so on. Guess we‘ll have a break anyway somewhere in the middle.“ I nodded and put the map away. The light rain that had started a few minutes ago turned heavier and splashed in loud, unexpected gusts onto the windshield.

„Look at that weather. What a shame!“

„It‘s all right with me so far. I think it‘s even cozy, being inside and warm. Isn‘t it?“

„Well, as long as it stops being that nasty once we are in Montreal.“

„Tell me if you want me to drive, all right?“ Francis nodded and stubbed out his cigarette.

„Another one?“ He shook his head. 

„It‘s adorable how your curls bounce if you do that.“ He blushed, and I couldn‘t but smooth one strand of red hair behind his ear. He sighed softly and pretended to lean into my hand. I gently stroked his soft cheek: „Little kitten.“ He pursed his lips and mumbled: „I‘d purr if I could...“ A sudden gust of wind almost heaved the car: „What the…!“ Francis exclaimed. „Feels like a storm coming. Damn it.“ His hands on the wheel looked cramped. „I mean, they forecast snow in Canada, but – not a gale like that.“ 

 

We were only about half an hour north of Hampden, but the weather deteriorated with every mile. Bare trees buckled and swerved under the wind and the rain had turned into a mix of water and snow. The hills loomed dark under a gloomy sky, and all light seemed muffled and leaden even if it was still early in the day.

One hour later, everything was white. We drove through heavily falling snowflakes, on solid snow. It was coming down fast and abundant. There were no snow plow trucks in sight yet. Traffic had slowed down and Francis crawled carefully in the same snail pace as the others, keeping his eyes fixed on the taillight of the car in front of us. The new snow was slushy and thick and a pain to drive on. Francis kept going bravely, but I sensed his growing tension: he was unusually quiet and monosyllabic and squinted his eyes. Looking into the white spiral of flakes flying against the windshield was strenuos even for me. 

When a sign turned up, Francis read the name of the exit and asked me to look it up on the map:

„How far are we?“

I unfolded the map and needed some time to find the place:

„Oh, farther than I thought, actually. More than two thirds, I‘d say. We had a good start, I guess.“

„What shall we do? This looks like hell to me. It will take us all afternoon to make the last third.“

„I don‘t know – do you want to go back?“

Francis‘s „No!“ was so indignant that I smiled at him. „This is our weekend! I don‘t want to drive back to Hampden in this blizzard only for us to sit alone in our respective apartments and mope about the lost fun. The plan was to have fun! And fun we‘ll have!“, he added grimly and slapped the wheel.

„All right, the hedonists are coming! Fun starting at five p.m. No excuses. Be prepared and on time!“

„Exactly!“, he replied with a smirk.

We chuckled. Still easing slowly into the impenetrable white in front of us, Francis sighed: 

„I need a break, Richard. All right if I get out the next exit?“

„Of course. And then we can switch.“

He nodded and lightly tapped my thigh: „Thanks.“

 

 

Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a lighted gas station. The parking lot was full of cars seeking shelter from the severe weather, but we found an empty booth in the loud, steamy diner.

„The next circle of hell – what did we do to deserve this?“, Francis sulked.

„Come on. It‘s not that bad. A break will do us good. Can I take your coat?“

Francis shot me an exasperated look. Keeping up the morale by keeping up manners seemed the thing to do, and after handing it to me and sitting down again, he nodded gratefully. I folded my shabby one under his silky cashmere affair and secured them at the other end of the bench when a heavily made-up waitress arrived with a coffee pot. The pink apron stretching over her voluptuos bosom had seen cleaner days. Her perm sogged in the damp and she seemed overwhelmed by the sudden traffic. 

„Coffee, honeys?“, she shouted. Francis eyed the black swirling liquid and was close to making a face. I nudged his foot and answered:

„Yes, please. Any pie left?“

„Cherry and apple.“

„Two, please.“ Francis looked at me incredulously.

„Which one, honey?“

„Apple, please.“

„Coming!“, she yelled while almost touching me with her rounded hips when turning to get back.

 

„You won‘t eat some stale pie in a diner in the middle of nowhere?“

„I will, honey“, I mimicked the waitress. „Because I‘m hungry and we don‘t know how long we‘ll be on the road.“

Francis frowned and nodded: „Speaking of, what are your preferences?“

„Meaning…?“ I raised an eyebrow and tried to tease him. He didn‘t react. Not in a playful mood, definitely. His hair curled even more in the moist atmosphere. Clutter, loud voices, squeaky shoes of patrons escaping the gale.

„This place makes me sick. Sorry. Can we leave rather quickly?“

I nodded. Francis looked miserable all of a sudden. I searched for his eyes but he avoided me. 

„Huh?“, I groped for his foot again. A faint smile, then he pressed his against mine. „We‘ll be fine. All right? Stop worrying.“

„How can you say that? Just look at these – folks. I have no intention of spending the night in company like that. They‘d...“

„What?“

„They‘d slay me if they knew...“

Francis was prone to sudden attacks of real or imagined fear of homophobia. He never had told me why, but I guessed he must have had some bad experiences. All he ever told me was that he preferred larger cities and felt safer there. I had tried to follow his mindset – he indeed stood out and seemed „different“, but I also got the impression he cultivated that look, the feminine longer curls being only the start. Francis had been an enigma to me in the first months. I imagined I understood him better now, but he kept surprising me. I felt the urge to squeeze his hand, to make him feel my presence and tell him we would get out of this fine.

„I‘d love to hold your hand if I could.“

„Don‘t!“, Francis looked at me alarmed. „I mean, don‘t do it here!“, he added when he saw my insecure smile. His raspberry lips curled into an admirable pout. „Oh, Richard...“, he wailed. „I hate this.“ His knee touched mine and I pressed back into it. He tried a grin:

„I wanted to take you to „Patrice‘s“ for a really nice dinner. I wanted to relax in a fine bath tonight. I already looked forward so much to have those brioches again tomorrow before the museum. I wanted us to have a cultivated, elegant weekend, damn it!“, he slapped the table with his delicate, pale fist.

„I just wanted to have us a weekend together. No matter where.“

„Really?“ He looked at me with large eyes. I nodded. „I don‘t care where we end up. As long as we‘re together.“

I felt his hand on my knee: „You‘re amazing. Wow. Sorry, just look at you – poised, mature, reacting like an adult. I‘m so lucky to have you. If I were alone, I‘d curl up in this corner there, cry and hope to die.“

I put my hand onto his for a few seconds: „Don‘t die.“

 

We watched the tumbling snow outside and the lights of cars slowly easing in and out of the parking lot. Still no end in sight. When the waitress put the pies and coffee in front of us, she had told us that the forecast said this was only the beginning and much more snow was to be expected tonight and tomorrow. We had asked her for a place nearby to sleep and she had recommended the next town, fifteen minutes away, which had a small inn. Though she had heard the aged proprietess had broken her hip or something recently. She wasn‘t sure if the inn was still open. But considering our options – sleeping in the car until the interstate got cleared enough to continue on to Montreal, or even curling up on the diner benches – we decided to give it a try.

 

 

„Without you, I wouldn‘t dare to go on in this weather“, Francis said when he took his place in the passenger seat.

„Really? What would you do?“ I turned the ignition.

„I have no idea. At all.“ he replied desperately. I tried to drive through the snow that had piled up during our short break and almost ended up with spinning wheels. „And now, I‘m giving myself over to a Californian driving in snow for the first time. Just great. This is your first time, isn‘t it?“

I nodded and bit my lip. The ground felt so soft and unreliable that I decided to take it very slow. Francis sighed and leant back in his seat. I shot him a glance – I never was certain if he put up a show or was close to a panic attack. A lopsided smile in the greying afternoon light showed me there was still a bit of good humour left. I tried to grace his hand with mine, tore it back quickly when the car started to slide like on water. We had ignored the signs leading back onto the interstate and had reached the small country road behind the gas station which we were told to take. There was still enough light to see, in theory, but we drove into pure whiteness: snow from above, from the side, from the front, on the ground. Seemingly endless white plains, a small forest ahead. I couldn‘t see much and drove even slower. 

 

A sign at a small crossroad led us to the left. The car swerved and slid when I tried to turn, but I got it under control nevertheless. Soon, we entered the trees we had seen from afar. There were not enough to call it a forest, and they dotted the landscape rather sparsely, with empty space between them. If the masses of snow hadn‘t been as infernal, the sight would have had the magic of a winter wonderland: the dark green of the branches still showing, a completely white road, thousands of falling snowflakes.

„Are you mad at me?“, Francis asked.

„Why ever?“

„Because I brought you into this situation.“

„Don‘t be silly. You can‘t control the weather.“

„Well – I tried. Sacrified a hecatomb to Zeus yesterday night in the parking lot of my building. Just to get us stranded here together.“

I snorted: „You could have had that easier. Just tell me it‘s your utmost desire to spend a night with me in – what‘s this goddamn place called?“

„Willsboro.“

„Willsboro. Doesn‘t sound too bad, does it?“

Francis grunted: „Wait till we get there.“

 

A strenuous quarter of an hour later, we passed occasional houses on either side of the road. The distance between them got shorter. We only realized that we indeed had reached Willsboro when we passed a church and what looked like a tiny main street. No human beings in sight, almost no other cars. Just plain white-out. I looked for a place to park the car that wasn‘t completely covered in snow. By chance, we ended up almost in front of a larger, dark building with an ancient sign „The Squire‘s Inn“. Walking on the masses of snow proved difficult, especially in my unsuitable shoes, and we tumbled more than we walked to the front porch. The place looked slightly shabby, but well-cared for. The only thing that raised my suspicions were the dried, dead autumn flowers still in their pots and three sunken pumpkins. Drifted snow covered the whole porch in a fine layer. My steps were the first in hours and proved what I had feared: a handwritten sign in the dark door announced that the inn was closed temporarily. I turned to Francis who had stepped behind me only now:

„No luck. We get to sleep in the car.“

„What?!“, he exclaimed.

„You got snow on your nosetip. I‘d kiss it away if we were not in desperate need of a room. And had to behave.“ I gently wiped the bit of snow with the pad of one finger. Francis became quiet and looked at me with large, soft eyes.

„You are so different...“, he murmured.

„I‘m not. Just a tad – braver than usual. You know, when looking death in the eye, you ponder automatically what you had missed if this were the end. What you‘d regret.“

Francis stepped a bit closer until we almost touched: „That‘s what you were thinking on the drive?“

I nodded. We looked at each other silently until he suddenly smiled:

„You‘re disgusting. Optimistic and romantic even in dire circumstances.“ He cuffed me on the shoulder but seemed very satisfied with himself. I caught him when he tried to turn away and planted an oblique fast kiss on his cheek. Standing at the edge of the porch, we looked around Willsboro‘s overseeable centre. A church, two rows of faintly lighted small stores, soft, rounded snow monsters on a sort of common that probably were benches in summer, and snow. Snow everywhere. 

 

„Looks like a ghosttown. Like everyone died of a disease.“

„Very helpful. Thanks, Richard.“

I gently steered him down the few steps at the elbow:

„Let‘s ask in a shop. Or seek something official.“

The pout again, which increased my desire to kiss those adorable lips. We stumbled onto deserted main street. The imprint of our tires was the newest one. No one around. The only welcoming building was a small brick structure in a mock-classical style a bit up the road. It‘s soft light shone onto the snowy lawn. A larger sign atop the door promised some sort of institution – at this point, I‘d been glad to get permission to sleep on the floor of a church or school or wherever heating was available.

I guided Francis, who had his head lowered against the snow, in front of the tiny house. „Paine Memorial Library“, we read above the door.

„Just great. Nomen est omen“, Francis muttered.

I couldn‘t but erupt in a fit of silly, nervous laughter. The tension of the last hours flew away with every giggle I couldn‘t avoid. Francis looked at me bewildered. And seemingly not amused.

„Sorry“, I gasped. „But being here with you is so much more fun“ - I panted - „than being with Henry. Or Bunny.“ I tried to stifle the next fit of laughter I sensed coming when I saw Francis‘s deathly look.

„Well, glad you enjoy yourself“, he remarked drily. He turned to the door and stomped his feet: „You coming? Or cackling some more?“

 

Francis held the heavy, large oak door open, brushing snow off his long coat. I followed him into a warm, elegant vestibule. Tall, equally wooden swing doors with golden brass bars led into the interior. One wall of the vestibule was adorned with a large golden mirror under which a small table rested, the other was plastered with posters and ads of all sorts in a neat frame – the high-end version of the usual public announcements boards. I quickly scanned them – not your usual bulletin board, also. Invitations to talks, concerts, historical tours. Estate or library sales. Francis was busy making himself pretty in the mirror. I stepped behind him: we looked a bit dishevelled and pale, with floppy, moist hair, but otherwise presentable. I brushed some more invisible snow flakes from Francis‘s coat, mainly in order to calm him. He flashed me a tiny smile before stomping his feet once more: 

„Let‘s go in.“

 

The heavy doors opened noiselessly into an elegant, large room. Soft lights at the shelves and above desks, a dark red carpet, solid, finely crafted bookcases that seemed quite old. I felt how my whole body relaxed and settled into the familiar world of paper, wood and slight dust. Finally a haven of peace after all that snow. The middle of the room was presided by an equally fine wooden desk with the requisite green lamp. A tall woman in her thirties who seemed to be the only person in here got up and smiled at us:

„Welcome to the Paine Memorial Library. How can I help you?“

Her kind eyes behind tiny glasses eyed us curiously. Fine hair, perfectly bobbed, framed her friendly face. She seemed warm and cozy in her red wool sweater, like someone who had never been troubled by inclement weather or wet shoes. The complete opposite of us. I felt like a dripping mess and feared we‘d ruin the fine carpet, so I started with:

„Excuse our appearance. We got surprised by the weather. May we come in anyway?“

„Sure, come on in! The carpet will dry quickly. You drove all the way here in this gale?“

„Not on purpose, sorry to disappoint you“, Francis said. „We‘re not here for the library, to be honest.“

„Oh.“. She couldn‘t avoid a slight drooping of her lips. „We struggle a bit, you know, being just a tiny historical library. Every visitor counts!“

„Just count us in, then! We could even check something out if that makes you happy“, Francis offered.

„We are mainly a reference library, I‘m afraid. Scholars come here for research.“

„Well, we are scholars – of a sort“, I shrugged.

„Where‘re you from?“

„Hampden College.“

„Really?“, she cried and couldn‘t hide some excitement. She continued animated: „That‘s my alma mater! I studied there about – let‘s see – sixteen years ago!“

„Did you? I bet it didn‘t change much“, Francis said. „Where did you live?“

„Noyes“, she replied. „You?“

„He lives off-campus“, I patted Francis, „and I live in Monmouth.“

„I had a friend living there. What a coincidence! Which department are you?“

„Classics.“

„Does it still exist? There were rumors even in my time it would get closed down because of an odd professor who handpicked his students to the extent of almost deleting the whole department. He wasn‘t exactly welcoming, and despite his fantastic reputation, people just stopped applying.“

„You mean Julian Morrow?“ She nodded. „He‘s still there. In fact, you find two-fifths of his class standing in front you.“

Her eyes shot up: „You are in Morrow‘s class?“

We nodded. Francis hugged my shoulder, I put my arm around his and we grinned at her like derelict soldiers of a forgotten army.

„Oh, wow, that‘s – that‘s great having you here! Tell me, is he still as selective as back then or did he get a bit more democratic?“

„He did. He accepted Richard into his inner circle although he‘s from California.“ I shoved him away from me.

„There was talk he had very odd standards of admittance. Sometimes intellect, sometimes background.“

„He‘s intellect, I‘m background“, Francis joked. They chuckled while I corrected him: 

„I‘m not! I was just lucky, I guess.“

„Then it were your good looks“, Francis teased me. „No, seriously, Miss“ - he looked at the plate on the table - „Radderback, look out for him. Richard Papen. Serious scholar and gifted writer. You might hear from him. As for me – I‘m just an heir. Ordered around by his grandfather. Hampden is a great excuse to escape the familial ties.“

„Poor you“, she murmured in real sympathy. „And your name?“

„Francis“, he replied, omitting his family name for good reason. She regarded him thoughtfully, not insisting on a complete proper introduction.

„Well, Francis and Richard.“ She looked at us. „Now what can I do for you?“

The chat had been so pleasant and comfortable. We almost had forgotten that this was no tea party. The desperation of our situation clawed at my heart.

„We intended to go to Montreal for the weekend but got surprised by this blizzard.“ The snow still whirled in front of the large windows. „They told us at the interstate there was a hotel here. But it seems closed?“ I looked at her askingly.

„Yes, I‘m afraid that‘s true. I saw you over there already and you noticed the sign? Old Mrs Rensselaer broke her hip back in autumn and isn‘t back yet. She‘s a dear one. You‘d had enjoyed her breakfast.“

„Is there any other place to stay?“

She furrowed her brows: „Holly Paynton rents lovely rooms down at the river in summer. But she‘s in Florida right now. It‘s not exactly tourist season here, I‘m sorry.“

„That‘s all?“

„That‘s all. Usually enough for a population of 1700. Sorry to disappoint you!“

Francis looked at me and I saw the former anxiety and desperation creep into his fine features. Acknowledging the still falling snow in the background, I took equally desperate measures and asked boldly:

„Would there be any possibilty to, uhm, stay here for the night? Sleep in the basement maybe?“

„What? Oh – you mean here, in the library? I‘m afraid I don‘t think so.“ She chewed her lips. „But you definitely shouldn‘t go on. I just heard on the radio that the closing of Montreal airport seems imminent. Also, that‘s only the beginning. The weather‘s coming down on us from the north, and it should peak only on Sunday.“

„Should we head back to Hampden, what do you think?“, I turned to Francis.

„We skidded already now, and soon, it‘ll get dark. I don‘t know...“, he added miserably. I patted his arm.

„Don‘t worry, dear. Just stay calm.“

The librarian had watched our interaction attentively. She cleared her throat:

„How about this. My parent‘s place is up on the river, a bit outside town. It‘s deserted, but still in functioning order. In fact, my siblings and I spent christmas there. I live there in summer, but now, my apartment in town is more convenient.“

„And your parents?“

„Oh, they – they are at the graveyard. Over there. Unfortunately. We couldn‘t bring ourselves to sell the place. So – it‘s just empty, waiting for whoever of us wants to spend a weekend. The beds are always made up!“, she beamed. I risked a quick glance at Francis – not the Ritz, certainly, and „Patrice‘s“ wouldn‘t be around the corner, but he perked his ears and looked curious.

„Would you care to stay there?“

„Are you serious? We don‘t want to intrude...“ I started and was interrupted by Francis: „Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Consider your feet kissed!“

Her grin broadened and she continued:

„I‘m afraid it‘s rather cold right now, but there is heating. And a fireplace. You‘d be all alone out there, that‘s fine with you?“

We nodded. I felt Francis‘s hand on mine, hidden in the folds of his coat, squeezing it quickly.

„We‘d forever be grateful to you.“ I was so relieved we wouldn‘t have to get back into the car in this infernal weather. I craved Francis‘s safety and mental well-being more than anything and knew he‘d take it badly if we had to go on.

„So, here‘s what we do: I have to hold the line until 5 p.m. here. You go ahead and get some groceries. There‘s Burton‘s Market over there, see? And get enough for three days. I‘m not joking!“ She added when she sensed our protest. „Then, you come back here and we drive out to the house together.“

„All right“, I nodded. „Can we get you anything?“

„I‘m fine. Living just five minutes by foot away. Having my tea and treats here...“, she nodded towards her mug.

 

 

*******************************

 

 

Two hours later, we were settled into the coziest little home imaginable: near the banks of a broad river, close to town, but all alone in the white landscape. In summer, it must be a marvelous place, as Anna confirmed. Her childhood home was a rather small place, built by her grandparents in the Thirties, in the modest style of former decades. Modest, but very inviting. Her parents had added a deck and a magnificent sun room looking over the river, opening into the main living room. Right now, we only saw white with a hint of blue that intensified while evening slowly descended. We got our first house tour right in the blue hour – even if there was almost no light left due to the constantly falling snow, the sky turned a tentative dark blue while we traipsed through the house. Anna had first built and lighted a fire in the downstairs fireplace after showing us where the wood was stored. The stairs had a smooth wooden railing, softened by decades of hands on it. Pale flowered wallpaper, old-fashioned lace curtains at the window on the small landing.

„There‘s the bedroom. I hope that‘s fine with you?“

Anna had stepped into one of four doors on the second floor. We followed and saw what probably was the master bedroom: a fairly large room with magnificent windows looking over the river. One large bed.

„Is there“ - I coughed - „sorry, but is there another bedroom?“

Anna looked at me surprised. In a matter of seconds, I saw confusion, recognition and embarrassment flit over her face:

„Of course there is! Oh my god, I‘m so sorry. Yes, of course we have a second bedroom. Come this way, please“, she bowed her head and avoided our gaze. Francis looked at me quizzically while we trod behind her. „Here you go. All ready for guests.“ She turned on the radiator here also. „And here‘s the bathroom. Sorry there‘s just this one.“

She stopped in the hallway, the dainty overhead lamp highlighting her shiny hair:

„I have to apologize. I saw you on the steps of the Inn, and you seemed so“ - she stopped - „close and comfortable with each other, and I just assumed… Greek scholars, you know… The good old prejudices. I‘m very sorry.“

I felt a warm wave on my cheeks and knew I blushed.

„No need to apologize“, Francis reassured her. „We are a strange community of fate today. What else to do but to be comfortable with each other? Usually, I‘m just annoyed by his Californian habits. But for now, I‘ve to put up with him.“

The lightheartedness didn‘t catch and sounded hollow. I cleared my throat and turned around to hide my embarrassment:

„I like these old wallpapers. I hope you have no intentions of replacing them?“

„No. Neither intentions nor the means, to be honest!“ Anna turned and started down the stairs. I felt Francis‘s hand at the small of my back. He chuckled into my ear: „I like these wallpapers?!“ I grunted. He continued, breath tickling my ears: „Small town. Saw us fooling around even in the tempest. Glad you didn‘t kiss my nose!“

„Really?“ Anna was downstairs and out of sight. „I‘ll catch up later on it, don‘t you worry!“ I hugged him briefly around the waist before shoving him in direction of the stairs.

Anna watched us descending and still seemed worried:

„I sincerely hope you don‘t take offense.“

„Everything peachy!“, I replied. „In fact, we might be closer to something than we know ourselves.“

„You make the oracle of Delphi sound like a... I don‘t know. What the hell are you talking about? Honey?“ Francis tried to turn the situation into ridicule.

 

 

Anna had left soon afterwards, claiming that her roommate always cooked on Fridays. Francis unloaded our groceries and luggage while I tried to shovel some snow in the entrance lane – a futile device, as I realized when I saw the masses of white powder that had accumulated at the beginning while I was busy at the other end. I did it anyway, creating piles on either side that should grow to considerable height during our short stay. After having cleared the path to the shed, I also stocked up on fire wood.

Twilight turned into deeper darkness. There were some houses dotted along Bouquet River. We faintly saw some lights through the falling snow. I liked this – being remote, but not completely isolated. I left our porch light on deliberately for possible others to see, though I doubted there would be much traffic in these weather conditions, and also turned on the table lamps in the sunroom. I heard Francis‘s steps above while I looked around: still that awkward feeling that we were intruders in a strange, unfamiliar place. How good of Anna to trust us. The best that could happen to us in the given circumstances. But it still felt odd. I wandered around the room and touched some of the surfaces. Everything was modest, but seemed well-loved and well-kept: the old brick fireplace, the newer built-in shelves complete with hundreds of books, the low lamps, a piano with framed pictures on it, the large white sofa which seemed to be a newer aquisition, a cozy armchair as well as a small writing desk overlooking the river. My fingers itched to sit down there and write some in my diary – the place promised inspiration.

Francis had come down the stairs lightly and approached me on soft feet:

„What a cozy place, isn‘t it?“

He stopped next to me. I nudged his shoulder with mine and nodded. We stayed like that, slightly connected but not really touching until he turned to me:

„Are you sad we‘re not in Montreal?“

„Not at all. Forget Montreal. I‘d rather be here. With you.“

His lips twitched: „So romantic… How about some tea?“ 

„Yes, please.“

„By the way, I put the candles near the fireplace. See?“, he asked in turning towards the kitchen. Anna had advised us to stock up on candles should the power give out.

 

 

I followed Francis into the yellow kitchen. Everything was old, but clean and neat like the rest of the house. An electric kettle seemed the only concession to modern times. Francis filled it and rummaged in our grocery bags for the tea we had purchased. I started to unpack them and put our provisions on the counter. We sorted them wordlessly and like an old couple: this stays here, this goes into the fridge… Reminders of weekends in the country house crossed my mind where we two easily settled into the routine of housekeeping and cooking while the others lounged in the library. I had always craved time with Francis alone. Having him possibly for more than a weekend all to myself made me giddy.

„Why‘re you grinning?“, I heard Francis‘s voice.

„I‘m not grinning.“

„Yes, you are.“ He stopped putting away the groceries and arrested me, one hand on a shoulder, one cupping my chin:

„I‘m just happy. That‘s all.“

„Just happy. Some are on a lifelong quest for happiness, muse about if it exists at all – and you are just happy?“

„Yes. Just give me some snow, an abandoned house and a chum and I‘m good to go.“

Francis looked at me pensively before he patted my shoulder:

„Wish I had some of your optimism. By the way, I put one of my sweaters on your bed. You‘re welcome to wear it as long as it‘s as chilly in here.“

„Thanks!“

„You hungry?“

„Getting hungry soon.“

„How about I start dinner then and you do whatever you want?“

„Can I give you a hand?“

„No, I‘ll keep it easy and just do a shrimp risotto if that‘s fine with you?“

„Sounds delicious.“

 

I nudged his neck with my nose and went upstairs. The „on your bed“ had stung – certainly, it had been me who asked Anna about a second bedroom, but that was for show. I always had assumed or hoped we would share a bed like on our first trip to Montreal in fall. But obviously Francis preferred two rooms and some privacy at night. Maybe things had changed since October, and all flirtation and bodily closeness was just chummy, just play? I felt very comfortable around Francis, but there was still this dark sensual undercurrent, an involuntary tingling in my stomach whenever I touched his silken skin by chance or revelled in his scent when he leaned in closer to me. Whenever I looked at him, his presence so normal and familiar, and realized with a sudden pang how beautiful he was. How deeply his ethereal, delicate face touched me. I couldn‘t but acknowledge that I wanted more from him. I just wasn‘t sure anymore he felt the same for me. His decisive „your bed“ doubled my doubts.

I looked into the room with the striped wallpaper: indeed, there was my bag sitting on the floor, my other bag leaning on a chair. And a fluffy looking blue sweater on the bed. The room exuded a peaceful, calm air, as did the rest of the house, actually. It had a peculiar, sweet scent. Like lavender and camomile, and something woody. I changed into a fresh shirt and took the sweater – it weighed next to nothing, but was incredibly soft and felt warm already in my hands. I quickly buried my nose into it: only the faintest trace of Francis‘s scent, most probably coming from other garments in his suitcase. I pulled it over my head and traipsed on tiptoe to what was Francis‘s room now. He had arranged his row of suitcases against one wall. His pajama hung over the footboard of the bed and a pile of sweaters rested on the dresser. Two books on the night table indicated on which side of the bed he intended to sleep. Well.

 

 

After getting my diary and a pen, I went down and enterd the kitchen from the hallway. Francis handed me a mug of steaming tea:

„Just look at you. This colour looks very becoming on you. You can keep it if you want? Got it for christmas and never wore it.“

„But it feels so – light and soft. It must have cost a fortune.“

„It‘s alpaca. Never wore any?“

I shook my head.

„You sure I can‘t assist you?“

„I‘m fine.“

 

 

I installed myself at the cozy little table in the sunroom and didn‘t notice how time flew. This happened whenever I started to write. Francis almost startled me when he came up behind me, a bowl and a spoon in his hands:

„Here, lick. If you fancy.“

He held the spoon in front of my mouth. The chocolatey mixture melted in my mouth:

„I can‘t believe you did a mousse au chocolat?“

„A little sinful addition to our dinner“, he replied, satisfied with my delighted reaction.

„I thought you are the sinful addition“, I raised my eyebrows. My heart beat faster. Where did this sudden courage come from?

He blushed and tried a coy „That‘s up to you“ before averting his eyes. I stopped his hand with the bowl, scraped the rest of the mousse and offered the spoon to him:

„Try it. It‘s pure heaven.“

He smiled shyly. There it was again, this uncertainty. When we were playful and silly, everything was allowed, given and taken with no second thoughts. But as soon as we got into real contact, real closeness, my heart hammered in my throat and I lost all courage. 

After having cleaned the spoon, he rested daintily against my desk and slid a bit upwards to sit half on it:

„What‘s your writing process? In your diary, I mean? Recording what really happened, or your emotions, or thoughts?“

„A mix of everything. Depends on the day.“

I leaned back and stretched my arms above my head.

„And today, for example?“

I grinned: „All emotion, actually.“ He looked at me, amused and curiously. „Which is – well, probably not what I might want to remember later. Or the police might be interested in if we went missing in action and they found our mummified bodies and a completely snowed in car three months from now.“

„Don‘t scare me!“, Francis shrieked. „Three months from now, those windows will be open and the river will glitter in the sun!“

„All right, all right“, I patted his thigh which rested next to my diary. It felt so good that I just left my hand there. Francis didn‘t withdraw. „No, all feelings right now. Because – I don‘t know. This is all so unexpected. Suddenly just the two of us in this funny little house. In a town we‘ve never been before. In the middle of upstate Vermont or wherever.“

„Sounds like the beginning of a scary novel.“

„Might be a romance, also.“

„A scary romance?“, he offered. I smirked:

„Whatever you like. You are one of the protagonists.“

His lips turned into the adorable pout again before he added:

„Just give me peace of mind. A warm bed and enough mousse au chocolat.“

„Alright. Done!“, I smiled. 

„Dinner‘s ready whenever you are, actually.“ He ran his fingers lightly through my hair. I raised my head a bit to welcome him closer and sighed:

„Once more, please.“ Our eyes met before I closed mine again, indulging into his gentle fingers in my hair. He combed me with all fingers before leaning in and placing a loud smack on my forehead:

„Come on. Let‘s eat.“

 

 

I marvelled at what Francis had found at the small-town store while I had assembled the dull essentials like milk, toast and jam: the risotto was glittering in spicy, oily tomatoes, the shrimps fried in just a hint of garlic, and he even had managed to find a Chardonnay which he had chilled in front of the kitchen window. I was sure no fancy dinner in Montreal could match this.

 

 

***********************************

 

 

We retired to the large sofa afterwards while the snow still came down in flurries. There were two outdoor lamps on the railing of the deck. They illuminated the soft, rounded edges of the deck, covered in snow, and showed how the white masses piled up ever more on the railing. Soon, even the lamps, which wore little caps of snow already now, would be gone. I had tended to the fire again, Francis had lighted additional candles. We installed ourselves on opposite ends of the ivory sofa, legs stretched out, mirroring each other, leaning our backs on the respective armrests and sharing a blanket over our feet. Without talking about it, we eased back into the strange physical closeness and comfortableness I wouldn‘t share with anyone else. I couldn‘t imagine myself doing this with Henry. Or Bunny. No matter how much snow or how cold a house. This was definitely a thing just between Francis and me. It was more than friendship, less than erotic love. A blurred state in between. 

 

We read silently, sipping our wine, interrupting each other occasionally with: „now listen to this!“ as we did in college. Once, our legs touched. I tried to arrange mine differently but Francis mumbled: „I don‘t mind“ without looking up in this strange, coy manner he sported today. I didn‘t know him like that. Usually, he was much more forward, daring even. Something seemed to have rendered him more cautious and I raked my brain if I might have given him offense. I watched him, equally cautious. His hair matched the burning logs: it glowed in copper and orange tones in the muted light and seemed to have a life of it‘s own. I loved his delicate nosetip seen from above like now when he held his face over a book. His skin shone like mother-of-pearl. A Burne-Jones angel right on my sofa. He looked up and watched me pensively over the rim of his pince-nez. I felt myself blush and turned one page in my book busily without having read it. He smiled. At the same time I felt one of his feet crawling up the side of my thigh and wriggling a bit. Looking at him, I covered it with my hand over the blanket. One corner of his mouth twitched and a long, silent gaze hit me right in the stomach. Everything was silent but the crackling fire between us. Was this advanced flirtation, or did he not care at all? He smirked at me above his glasses:

„I can hear your thoughts racing until here. Just go on with your book!“

I tried to smile, searched for his delicate, slender foot under the blanket and cupped it. I left my hand there and Francis did nothing to prevent it. He even mumbled: „Don‘t go“, when I shifted to hold my book differently, sending me again one of those ambigous looks. I patted his foot and stroked it gently. And our strange game continued: outwardly respectable, joined tenderly under the blanket, the occasional indulgent smile under long lashes and tiny smiles without looking up from his book when I touched a spot he seemed to like. I have to admit I was a good deal distracted and had to turn back the pages more than once to actually grasp what I had presumedly read. 

 

When the candles had burned down quite a bit and the snow on the railing looked like melting over and forming curves, Francis suddenly stretched and sighed. He removed his pince-nez and closed his book:

„I‘m fagged. Think I‘ll go to bed now.“

I nodded. He put the book on the table and slid over to me, one leg pulled up under his chin, one on the floor. I made room for him and he stopped short of me. We didn‘t talk while he arranged himself. I liked this intimate, mute kind of communication we had developped today. His eyes told me so much – and nothing at all at the same time. Suspended between longing and clarity. Tortous at it was, I started to enjoy this new kind of closeness and wondered where it might lead.

„Well...“. Francis started to draw idle circles on my thigh above the blanket. I put a finger into my book and closed it. We looked at each other. His gaze seeped into my veins like honey.

„What a day. I‘m glad we‘re still alive.“, Francis sighed.

„You drove very well“, I said.

„So did you.“

I nodded and put my hand on his. He turned his fingers upwards and we held hands for a few seconds. 

„I‘ll have a shower first if that‘s allright with you?“ I nodded. „Come say good night when you go to bed?“

„Of course“, I answered. He raised my hand and smoothed it against his soft cheek for a moment before getting up. I stopped him at a leg and buried my face in his thigh for some seconds. His fingers tousled my hair while I closed my eyes. I wanted to feel his hands on me. Everywhere. He freed himself:

„See you then.“

 

I let myself fall back into the sofa and curled up under the blanket. Not needing my book anymore for any pretended occupation, I put it away and just looked into the fire while I heard Francis in the upstairs bathroom. I tried to ban thoughts of his naked body while looking into the flames, with more or less success. Sighing, I got up. I carried our wineglasses into the kitchen and checked that the front door was locked. Switching off light after light behind me, I felt like the owner of the little house. How different everything felt, from Willsboro, the old library, to the few historic homes we had spotted on our snowy drive here, to this grown, aged home. Nothing was older than thirty years where I came from. Nothing had a history. Even if it meant just a few decades of family life like here, in Anna‘s home. I imagined what it would be like to live with someone in a small house like that. It felt good. I went back into the living room and switched off the deck lights from inside before I carefully extinguished the candles and put three more logs onto the fire. Folding the blanket, I let my eyes wander over the room which had given us so much coziness and comfort over the last hours. I deliberately took a mental photo of it, to come back to whenever I felt lonely later in life.

 

 

The bathroom door stood ajar and it was dark inside. A shaft of light fell from Francis‘s bedroom onto the wooden hallway floor. I gathered my stuff and took a shower myself. After towelling off I was glad Henry had given me the warm striped pajama when I had ended up miserably in his house in January. I had taken it with me on the trip deliberately– it looked far more decent than my old ones. I wouldn‘t want to be seen in one of those by Francis.

I still dapped on my hair when I stepped into Francis‘s bedroom. He lay on his back and was reading the same book as downstairs. Seeing me, he slid up and rested against the headboard. I crumpled my moist towel and combed my hair with my fingers before asking Francis:

„Are you fine? Got everything?“

He nodded: „Yes, thanks.“

„Warm enough?“

„Working on it… But the comforter seems warm enough.“

We smiled at each other. The situation started to get slightly awkward, so I shifted on my feet, wrung the towel some more and said:

„Well, then...“

„I had a marvelous day, Richard. Thanks for coming with me.“

„Thanks for having me!“

„May I hug you good night?“

I swallowed, but nodded. He patted his bed:

„Come sit for a second.“

I threw my towel over the footboard and slowly sat down beside him. Suddenly, I felt like intruding. At the same time, there was nothing I wouldn‘t have liked better than entering Francis‘s bed. I looked at him and he leaned forward. Our legs met and he slid even nearer. After asking „may I?“, to which I nodded, he gently wrapped his arms around my shoulders, still keeping a chaste distance between us. I embraced him also, getting closer and lifting his slight torso a bit to get more of him. He giggled, wriggled even closer and we hugged for real, hands on backs and heads on shoulders. He sighed directly into my ear. His curls tickled my neck. I stroked his sharp shoulder blades through his pajama while he mumbled:

„You smell good.“

„Just a perfectly normal shower gel. You can buy it everywhere.“

„I like it because it‘s you. That‘s the scent you bring with you whenever you sit next to me in our nine o‘clock class. Pine. Sun. Warm sand, somehow. I always thought this it what California smells like.“

I hid my nose in his curls. We stayed silent and embraced far longer than your usual good night hug. I didn‘t want to let him go. I heard his muffled voice:

„Did you realize we spent practically the whole day together? Except for a few bathroom breaks? And the shower right now? We were always together. Talked for – what was it – about eleven hours straight?“

I raised my head and smiled into his large green eyes. We were so close that I distinctly saw the freckles on the bridge of his nose, dotted just between his eyes. I smoothed some curls out of his face and asked:

„Are you getting tired of me?“

„No!“, he cried indignantly and clawed into my back. „Not at all! I just realized – I could get used to it.“

I nodded: „So do I.“

He pursed his lips and looked at me thoughtfully. The sudden tension unfurling between us became palpable. I was afraid of doing something I might regret later when I stayed just one minute longer, so I freed one hand and patted his skinny thigh:

„Well then...“

Fearing that I might get up, he clung to me and held me tight:

„Just one more second.“

We held each other again. My nose was close to his neck, near the blue vein where I had seen his heartbeat earlier, and suddenly, I felt his pulse quickening. He stirred a bit before whispering very softly:

„I don‘t want you to go.“

I wasn‘t sure if I had heard his muffled voice right. I held him by the shoulders and pushed him gently a bit away. Looking into his face, I asked:

„What did you say?“

He dropped his eyes and seemed terribly shy all of a sudden. Finally, he whispered again:

„Don‘t go.“

I swallowed again. My dreams came true, but I was hesitant to grab this chance.

„Unless you...“

„All right. I‘d love to stay“, I said, smoothing my hands over his bony shoulders. We smiled shily. 

„Guess I‘d miss you awfully if you went next door. I‘d probably sneak into your bed at night and scare you to death“, he continued. I held him close once more and got up: „I‘ll just...“. I gestured towards my towel. He nodded and slid down in the bed. I carried the towel to my room, extinguished the last lights on the night table there and in the hallway, and returned to Francis.

 

 

He expected me lying on his side, holding the sheets open for me. He looked like an early romantic with his long hair, like a spoiled aristocrat, dainty and pale and beautiful. Seductive but innocent at the same time. When I slipped into his bed, our feet touched by chance. He cried:

„Your feet are like ice!“ and covered them with his.

„It‘s not exactly warm in here“, I muttered. „Don‘t you mind?“

He shook his head and entangled our feet even more. I shuddered while he tenderly stroked my feet with his.

„You shouldn‘t have been out in the cold for so long. What with your wet hair and all. Come here“, I felt his hand on my back. He gently drew myself towards him. One look into his shining green eyes reassured me and I slid wordlessly into his arms. I sighed. I had really been cold, standing there in the barely heated room. The mattress, Francis‘s slight body, were deliciously warm.

„May I?“, I asked when I laid a hand tentatively onto his hip.

„Whatever you want“, he said.

„Careful what you say...“, I joked and buried my face onto his chest. He closed his arms tighter around my shoulders and started to stroke my back gently.

„We‘ll have you warm in no time.“

We lay silent for a few minutes, a bit speechless and overwhelmed at first. We had been close all day long, that was true, but this kind of closeness had an unavoidable erotic undercurrent. I desired this and feared it. I felt torn and sighed a bit while I arranged myself even closer to Francis to have both of us covered by the comforter. „Wait“, he mumbled, turned onto his back and held his arms open for me. I slipped into them, rested my head in the hollow of his neck and put one leg over his. Our bodies fitted perfectly, as if we had done this all the time.

„You held me in Montreal all night long, remember? Now I‘ll hold you“, he mumbled while he played with my hair. I nodded into his shoulder.

„We never talked about it“, I remarked.

Silence. Then: „No. Why?“

„I don‘t know. I was scared, I guess.“

„Didn‘t you enjoy it?“

I raised my head quickly to check if he was teasing: „This was almost the best night in my life! Of course I enjoyed it! Didn‘t you?“

„I did. A lot. But I was – scared is too strong a word, insecure rather, if I hadn‘t exploited you. I mean, I was draping myself all over you without asking! And then, it was too late. Or I didn‘t want to stop...“ His fingers played with the skin on my neck. I think I got goosebumps again, even if I was warm now. „What were you scared of?“

I drew in a long breath and slid my hand up and down his silk pajama top. „Hard to say. As you said, I feared you might feel exploited.“ I looked up at him and we grinned. „Not certain that‘s what you do with a fellow student. Fear it might be awkward in the morning. Fear I might like it too much...“, I whispered at the end.

He nudged my shoulder and tried to raise me off his chest: „Look at me?“

I turned a bit, pushed myself up and hovered over him. Our bodies were more intimately connected than before while I rested on my elbows. I looked into his speckled green eyes which seemed now more golden than usual. He smiled kindly and whispered:

„How about now? This here? Everything‘s fine with you?“

„It‘s pure heaven.“

„Do we need to talk about anything, or are you comfortable?“

I chewed one corner of my mouth while raking my brain how to express what I felt. Too late, too much wine – I couldn‘t come up with anything sensible, so I just said:

„I just know – that I like that. I want this. Just this, nothing more. For now...“ Francis pursed his lips and tried not to smile. „It‘s a strange state we are in, isn‘t it? I mean… Sorry I‘m not very clear. Do you think we might regret this cuddling tomorrow? Or next week in class? Will we avoid each other, be embarrassed?“

He shook his head calmly: „No. It‘s all right with me to have the occasional cuddle with a friend. Though I must say I‘m tempted to hope...“ His voice trailed off. „I mean – you are right. It‘s an in-between state. Meaning, it could develop in both directions.“ I watched him from above. Our faces were far too close, like a couple on a movie screen right before the first kiss. I shifted my weight onto just one elbow and got a bit away from him.

„It‘s like life. Or this hilarious road trip here. Could develop in both directions...“ I gently traced the outline of his face with one hand. „Guess we‘ll just have to bear this. See what happens without thinking too much about it.“ He nodded sleepily. I kissed his soft cheek for a second before curling up in his arms again. He planted a tiny kiss onto my forehead and folded his arms around me again.

 

 

Francis was a calm, sound sleeper this night. He held me most of the night and was caring and sweet even if only half awake. His warm fingers were all over me, constantly. He was even more unabashed and open than in Montreal in October. When I felt him unbuttoning the bottom two buttons of my top and slipping his hand onto my naked stomach and chest in the middle of the night while he spooned me from behind, I thought in my half-conscious state: „That‘s what lovers do. That‘s not chummy anymore.“ And I leaned back into his arms and indulged into our physical intimacy, as unabashed as he was. Was it strange to go through the intimate movements and caresses only lovers share before being lovers at all? Was it all right to rehearse the movements before having spoken about it, before having real consent to it? I was on the verge of turning everything into a problem until I realized I gave in once more to torturing nocturnal shapes and thought too much. Why not follow Francis and just enjoy what fate offered us on a silver tray? With that, I drifted off into some more peaceful hours of deep sleep while the snow covered our tiny house and everything around it.

 

 

************************************

 

 

I found myself still in Francis‘s arms when I woke to a pearly gray morning. Dull, muted light shone through the windows. The sky looked as leaden as yesterday, and I saw snowflakes coming down even from the bed. Francis‘s breathing was still calm and regular, and I kept quiet until I felt him stir and sigh softly. I squeezed his hand which I held already and turned my head slightly. Green, astonished eyes glistened like jewels in the gray-white morning light:

„Richard. We slept together.“

„We shared a bed, you mean?“

He nodded: „Yes, that‘s what I mean. I‘m just – amazed. I mean, we did it again. Like in fall.“ He turned to me. I put my hand onto his waist and looked into his beautiful eyes, mesmerized anew by his looks. „What does this make us?“

„I don‘t care“, I mumbled, obliterating that the same question had tortured me in the small hours. „I don‘t need labels. I just love it when we do this.“

He smiled, sighed and cuddled into my arms. I kissed his tousled head and just held him. I think he even dozed off again for some minutes while I slowly stroked his back. I enjoyed every minute of it until he suddenly raised his head, wriggled free from me and sprawled out into a long, long stretch. I let him indulge and ran my hand over the length of his torso when he was finished.

„Little kitten“, I whispered. He tried a sulk: „You said so yesterday already...“

„Because that‘s what you are!“, I teased him. I raised myself on one elbow and kissed his clothed shoulder:

„You stay here until I get the fire going downstairs, all right? Don‘t move.“ He sighed, groped for my hand before I got up and kissed the inside of my wrist before he let his head sink back into the pillows.

 

 

Having tended to the fire in the cold living room, I returned with a tray with two mugs of tea and toast with strawberry jam which I had cut into triangles. Francis slid up to lean at the headboard and made room for me as well:

„Aw, look at this. You are the best!“ I handed him his mug of steaming tea and got into the bed. Heavenly. The house was still clammy, despite the heating. Francis played with my feet while he asked:

„Are we snowed in or can we still look out of the windows?“

„It piled up pretty much over night. The doors are still free, I guess“, I joked, „but the car disappeared.“

„Really?“

„Yes. Just one round car monster in front of the house.“

His lips twitched: „I‘m glad we unloaded everything yesterday.“

I held the plate with the toast triangles in front of us:

„It stopped snowing, though. How about we walk into town to have breakfast there? In the little café Anna mentioned? My treat.“ He raised one eyebrow approvingly. „Also, I‘d like to clear the entrance to the library for Anna. Guess shovelling snow isn‘t much fun if you‘re dressed for work.“ He nodded.

„Can you walk? Twenty minutes?“

„Can I“, he repeated indignantly, „can I walk?!“ He took my mug and the plate, stored them on the night table and wrestled me down in bed. „Can I walk? What can you mean? Do I look like...“ He tickled my ribs until I wriggled under him, laughing and gasping loudly. He ended up straddling me while I still giggled:

„Stop it! Please! Mercy! I‘ll never ask again!“

He smirked. When we both realized the new stage of intimacy this position meant, we grew silent. I stroked his lean thighs without words while exhaling loudly, he just looked at me before getting up in one graceful movement before matters progressed into more dangerous terrain.

„You‘re welcome to the blue sweater again, if you‘d like“, he said while disappearing in direction of the bathroom.

 

 

Equipped with the sweater, some additional scarves and the heavy boots Anna had told me to feel free to use, we were good to go.

Our short walk into town was like an excursion into winter wonderland. No snow from above for now, which made walking quite pleasant actually, but fresh, clear air, picturesque snow on trees and branches, everything white and clean and muted. The streets were fairly clear, but I was glad we wouldn‘t have to use the car for today.

 

Anna was delighted to see us back and gladly accepted my offer to clear the path to the library. She had shovelled just a narrow trail, but I cleared it properly, also the way to the tiny parking lot. Even if more snow was supposed to come down, you had to start somewhere. While shovelling, I let my eyes wander around the small centre of Willsboro. A bit more life today, as it was Saturday morning. Occasional residents getting groceries or bread, some slowly crawling cars, curious eyes on me, some children squeaking and revelling in the snow. But all in all: very small town life, not much going on. I didn‘t mind. Somehow, I liked this slow pace.

I found Anna and Francis cozied up inside the library, a large pot of tea between them and a third cup waiting for me. Anna filled it presently:

„Thanks so much! I hate shovelling snow. Don‘t mind mowing the lawn in summer, which is also my responsibility, but snow...“ She shuddered. „I heard you had a good night?“

Francis smiled at me:

„Yes, indeed. Slept wonderfully. Your home is very inviting. And peaceful.“

„Glad you like it. Especially since you might need to stay longer – the forecast is not very favourable to you, I‘m afraid.“

„Really? But – we have to be back on Monday, don‘t we, Francis?“

„Does the elusive Julian Morrow even have a telephone? Or would you like to call administration on Monday morning?“

„You think it‘s really that bad?“

She nodded.

„Could we – would you be fine with having us that long at all? We could try to leave now...“

„I wouldn‘t advise that“, she interrupted Francis. „It may look fine here, in town, but you don‘t know those roads in winter. If they get behind clearing them, the interstate is first priority. We get left behind easily.“

Francis and I looked at each other.

„And you really don‘t mind us staying?“, I asked.

„Not at all. I‘m glad if the pipes don‘t freeze in winter, so – just stay and heat and use the warm water!“, she beamed.

 

We had a large breakfast of eggs, bacon and bagels at the only café in Willsboro – tiny, fake colonial, light wood, a blazing fire, frilly curtains everyhwere. But they did a good breakfast, as Anna had told us.

 

 

The walk back was not as pleasant as the one in the morning as the snow had started again. The streets were still clear, but Francis struggled against the increasing wind and cursed about wetness from all sides. I tried to humour him as best as I could, but decided to keep my mouth shut soon enough – my recent bout of pneumonia still scared me.

We reached the house in time before the snow really started to come down for good. Francis, exuding a certain well-known sullen air, excused himself to soak in a hot bath. I was certain this might restore his temper also besides getting him warm again and just let him disappear upstairs. I made myself a mug of coffee, lighted some candles and continued in my diary. The view over the river soon got blurred by swirling gusts of snowflakes. When I looked up again after some time, I noticed a dim twilight outside even if it was still around noon – the snow laden clouds hushed everything, drained every colour.. 

Gurgling of water in the pipes and the closing of cupboards and doors announced the end of Francis‘s ablutions. I got up to prepare some tea and installed myself on the couch. He joined me in an ivory soft sweater I also had never seen on him, accompanied by a white shirt with tiny green dots.

„Sorry for my temper earlier. But I‘ll never understand those outdoor-people.“

„Never mind. Glad you came along though.“

I threw some of the blanket over his feet while he melted into the same position opposite me like last night. He gratefully accepted some tea and opened his book, only to let his eyes drift soon afterwards. He looked out of the window into the whiteness hiding the river from sight. I marvelled at the classic, timeless features of his profile. He could sneak effortlessly into any painting, any statue in a gallery and nobody would notice. His curls almost touched the collar of his shirt. I wanted to touch them, play with them. Feeling my gaze on him, he turned his head:

„Why are you looking?“

„I didn‘t -“ I smiled. No need to pretend. I shook my head apologetically. Francis let his head fall back into the cushions and looked at me sleepily. I tried to return to my book when I felt a sudden commotion at his end of the sofa. He crawled up to me, supporting himself on the soft ground, messing the blanket up. He stopped short of me, looking vulnerable and silly at the same time:

„Am I still your kitten?“

I chuckled: „Of course you are.“

„May I take a nap here?“

I nodded and opened my arms for him. He frantically tore at the blanket, trying to cover both of us and messing it up even more. He groaned impatiently until I got hold of it and spread it properly. He curled up against me and put one arm over my stomach. I relaxed immediately. How warm he was, how cozy to feel him that close. I saw him looking into one of the candles, felt his fingers lightly playing with my sweater. His peaceful breathing started to make me drowsy also, and it took only some minutes for me to ask him to move over and stretch out fully besides him. He buried his face at my collarbone. The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep was how lithe and delicate his shoulders felt under my hands.

 

 

When we woke up, the candles still glowed softly in the dim room. We were facing each other, still entangled. I was utterly surprised and delighted, I have to admit, when Francis leaned in, seemingly half-awake, and kissed me fully and warmly on the lips. His mouth felt soft and sweet. I wanted more of this, much more. But before I managed to realize what happened, let alone enjoy it, he opened his eyes wide and exclaimed in shock:

„Oh my god, I‘m so sorry, Richard! I don‘t know how to apologize. Happened out of reflex. Forgive me.“

I patted his back:

„It‘s all right. Calm down.“

He looked at me and exhaled: „Sorry. Didn‘t mean to take you by surprise like that. Must have taken you for ...“

„Someone else?“ I offered.

„No!“, he shook his head violently. 

„Is there someone else?“, I asked and hoped I wouldn‘t intrude too much. Even if we spent almost all days together, Francis had a silently accepted habit of disappearing every now and then, returning usually glowing and satisfied with himself. We never questioned his whereabouts.

„You were in my dream. We were together, somewhere, and – I don‘t know. Sorry.“ He buried his face in the cushions and banged on the couch with one fist in funny despair. „Wish I really were that kitten. Would get away easier with it!“, he wailed.

I chuckled and turned his head to face me: „Forget it. I don‘t mind.“

„You don‘t? I really assaulted you!“

„It‘s all right.“ I stroked his cheek and brushed his tousled hair back behind one ear. „Tell me about your first kiss“, I smirked.

„My first kiss? Oh my gosh. That was awful. A real assault, actually.“ He lifted his head onto a pillow and boxed it for more comfort. Smoothing his hair, he continued: „It happened when I was at school in Switzerland. I was – fifteen, I think. You know, we escaped all the time to get chocolate and smokes. Two girls and me, usually. We had a hiding place between school and the village to enjoy the first fags, a derelict cabin of sorts. I wasn‘t interested in those girls at all, but one day they put it into their head we should try kissing. Ugh.“ He shuddered. I laughed:

„Poor you. Two girls!“

„Yes. Can you imagine? Me and two girls?“ he said in mock desperation. „It was – disgusting. One even tried to put her tongue into my mouth. She had read something about doing this, and I was near a panic attack because I thought I would suffocate.“

I grinned. What might have been heaven for other boys - making out with curious French girls - turned out to be pure hell for Francis.

„Don‘t laugh at me! Was your first kiss any better?“

„No“, I replied gravely, memories of a similar unexpected and unwanted experience with a precocious girl from my class clouding my brain. Pressed against a chain-link fence in one corner of our schoolyard, helpess and miserable and eager to free myself the first second she relented. „Not at all. I guess most first kisses are awkward, aren‘t they?“

„Who was it?“

„A girl from my class I didn‘t care for. Guess she just wanted to be able to brag about it. Already kissed a guy. You know. It was completely meaningless for me.“

„What a waste.“

„Indeed. How young and silly we were five years ago“, I joked.

„And your first meaningful kiss?“ he asked. His smile spread until his large, curious eyes. I sighed and turned a bit onto my back, evading his gaze. Should I tell him? Should I give him so much insight into me, share what I had kept a secret and cut away even from myself? I arranged myself to be more comfortable and watched the flickering flames on the ceiling. Quickly turning my head, I told him:

„This is just for you, all right?“ He nodded: „Promise.“

I searched for his hand and played with his fingers while I started, not looking at him:

„A cousin of a friend from school used to stay with him during summer. He was from Minnesota.“

„He? The cousin was a he?“, Francis interrupted. I nodded. He raised one eyebrow.

„We hung out together all the time, sometimes just the three of us, sometimes a whole bunch. We just fooled around, you know? Swimming, beach volleyball, getting high and counting the stars at night.“ I paused, smelling the salty air, hearing crashing waves and feeling Robert‘s sunwarmed skin under my fingers. „My friend had a summer job and had to work evenings occasionally. That‘s how Robert and I ended up at the beach alone one night. Sober and without any weed, I have to add.“ Francis smiled when I looked at him.

„How old were you?“, he asked.

„Seventeen.“ He nodded. I felt my hand grow moist in his, but I left it there anyway:

„Well… Do I have to go on?“ Suddenly, it felt awkward. But Francis begged:

„Please, do! You can‘t possibly stop here!“, he added in mock despair. I exhaled.

„You know those situations, don‘t you? One thing leading to the other?“, I tried to back out.

„Yes. I see. I don‘t want to force you“, he smiled when he sensed my reluctance was real. „Thanks for sharing so much with me.“ I turned back to him and he let a hand wander onto my back. But despite his efforts, his innate curiosity got hold of him:

„And how long did you kiss? And what happened after the kiss? Did anything happen at all?“

„Francis!“, I scolded him. He grinned and bit his lip. Looking at me mischievously from under his lashes, he muttered: „Being seventeen, knowing someone already, liking him – don‘t tell me that was all.“

I gently slapped him. We looked at each other. He was all eyes and expectant smiles, like whenever some juicy secrets were revealed. He even licked his lips and looked more like a naughty kitten than ever. I wanted to have him there, wanted to have him at this intimate encounter at the beach, wanted him to know I was no novice in those matters:

„We slept together. Right there at the beach“, I said softly. 

„You did?“ He seemed close to leaping up but confined himself to clawing into my back and wriggling his legs. „You – you really did?“ He seemed incredulous. „I always knew!“, he wailed in a delighted, high-pitched voice. „This carefully curated set-up, this „Mona here“ and „Sophie there“ is just a put-up job!“ He got up all excited and sat beside me. His hair stood in every direction and he looked slightly maniac. I watched him:

„Why does this make you so happy?“, I asked. His mouth dropped and he looked at me startled. He leaned back a bit and waited for a few seconds before whispering:

„Sorry. It‘s actually – it‘s… I‘m overreacting. It‘s not my business if you are… I mean, you can be oriented any way you wish. It doesn‘t mean anything other but to have a – comrade in arms. Of sorts.“ He seemed confused and embarrassed. He pinched the bridge of his nose like he uses to do whenever he felt clueless. I also got up and squatted next to him. Our thighs met:

„Don‘t apologize. I guess we both know why you‘re relieved.“ He brushed my thigh and remained silent. „It‘s fine with me. I‘d rejoice the same way you did if I had had doubts.“ He raised his chin, looked away from me and chewed his lips again. Again, the ethereal Burne-Jones angel. I touched his shoulder:

„Everything all right?“

He nodded.

„Did I offend you?“

„No. Not at all.“ He still seemed muted and insecure. I drew him close and hugged him. He let his head sink onto my shoulder and we looked silently out of the large windows. They slowly reflected the candles and the crackling fire. Evening was descending for real now.

„How about I start dinner? Are you hungry?“

„Yes“, I replied and bit his neck. When he tried to free himself, I bit only the more and made growling noises. He giggled and struggled himself free, toddling when he got up from the sofa.

„I‘ll get some more wood!“, I cried to his disappearing back. I still felt his soft, sleep-flushed lips on mine. I licked my own lips and knew for certain now that I needed more of that.

 

 

I entered the kitchen from the hallway and found Francis spreading and seasoning some salmon on a baking sheet. On the stove bubbled a small pot with rice, a packet of frozen spinach waited on the counter. I was once again amazed at his creativity. Any other college boy would have gone for chicken and fries, or mac‘n cheese. Francis had stocked up on the finest things he could find in Burton‘s Market.

„What can I do?“, I asked.

„You can open the bottle of wine. I put it in front of the door. Also, find those salted almonds we bought, will you? I‘m afraid that‘s all we have for an apéritif.“

„Apéritif“ being an unknown word in my parent‘s home, I was fine with it. The bottle stood right in front of the door, but was covered lightly with snow. I wiped it and held it in my hand for a moment while I looked out over the kitchen yard and the soft blankets of snow that covered everything. Looking up into the darkening sky, the snowflakes almost had a hypnotizing quality. I heard the oven door being closed. Francis joined me and leaned his head on my shoulder from behind. Silently, we looked into the polar, hushed landscape until he said:

„It‘s kind of magical, isn‘t it?“

I nodded: „I like the scent of snow also. The air is so fresh and crisp.“

 

Back in the kitchen, he tended to the spinach in a pan and I opened the almonds which I put into a dainty crystal dish I had found in the cupboard. We toasted with our usual „To live forever“ and nibbled on the almonds, leaning against the counter.

„Looks like it‘d never stop. Would you mind staying on?“, Francis asked.

„We don‘t have much of a choice, do we? Would you like me to dig out the car? See if it still runs at all?“

„Of course it runs! Don‘t scare me! It‘s a good car. It just wants a break every now and then. Or – a little hibernation. Let‘s not disturb it.“ He cocked his head and looked at me.

„That‘s what you want to tell Julian?“

„Exactly.“ We smiled. „In fact, I‘d prefer to talk to the twins first. Let‘s call them tomorrow. Maybe we‘re good to go on Tuesday, and they could excuse us for just one day.“

The wine hit me harder than expected on my empty stomach and I decided to take it slower. The effects of the alcohol only added to my strange mix of feelings: desire, lust, the urgent wish to feel Francis‘s lips on mine again, doubts if he really wanted that, fear of consequences. As long as I was in this muddled state, I should be careful not to muddle it any more myself by getting intoxicated. Francis seemed unconcerned of any dangerous side effects. I‘m sure the wine got to him even harder with his slight frame and underweight, but he seemed not to care. He was throwing himself into every pleasure life had to offer, enjoying what came his way. Sometimes, I wished I‘d be less rational and more impulsive like Francis. We‘d have kissed properly by now if I were - 

„Penny for your thoughts“, Francis said, stirring the spinach.

„Oh“ - I took a sip from my wine to hide my confusion - „I was just thinking about earlier. On the sofa.“ I felt myself blush.

„You mean...“ Francis asked.

„You know what I mean.“ 

He smiled. I couldn‘t but stare at his delicate, finely curved lips. They always had a seductive shade of raspberry pink and glowed now more than usual due to the warmth in the kitchen and the alcohol.

„Did you – like it?“, he asked softly. I nodded and steadied myself at the counter, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. „Well… We have all night to repeat possible things you, ahem, liked.“

„Did you like it?“, I asked shyly. He nodded violently: „Of course.“

My heart beat in my throat while I took a step towards him. He stopped me at the shoulder:

„Dinner is ready, I‘m afraid.“ I couldn‘t believe he adhered to the austere routine that had impressed me with the Greek class in the beginning even now. I sighed dramatically and loudly. He smirked and shrugged apologetically. Hugging me, he whispered into my ear: 

„If we start now, we‘ll never eat our dinner. And I feel the wine already.“

I held him by the shoulder and pleaded:

„Just one. I promise to stop.“

He smiled and brought his face close to mine. This time, it was me who initiated the kiss. The sensation of his soft lips on mine shot like fire through my veins. I was burning, inside and out. It was just one kiss, technically seen, but it lasted quite long. Francis drew me with himself while he switched off the oven and opened the door with one hand. Delicious smells wafted around us while we were still playing with each other‘s lips. I tried to keep it chaste and not too intimate, just chewed and teased his lips. I wanted more, but tried to be sensible for now. My hands wandered all over his warm body. I pressed him closer once more and ended with a loud smack on his lips. He grinned:

„This was the perfect apéritif. Ready for the main course now?“

I leaned my forehead onto his and nodded.

„You were good, this was really just one kiss. Even if it lasted“ - he glanced over to the old fashioned clock - „about ten minutes.“

„Trying hard to keep my promises“, I explained while I got out two plates and cutlery.

 

I placed myself opposite him at the table deliberately in order to reduce temptation. He searched for my feet under the table and sent me the occasional asking gaze under long lashed which almost drove me crazy. I was terribly distracted, tried to enjoy the meal, honour his cooking skills, while I was in reality only hoping it would be over soon. When we had had our last bite and put down the cutlery, we still stared at each other without moving. I felt too many things stir in my body and pondered how to get up without him noticing my apparent pleasure – a futile device, as it would turn out – when Francis got up slowly. He crossed the room like in slow motion, trailing his hand on the table, the back of the chairs, caressing everything on his way until he elegantly and slowly arranged himself on my lap. He straddled me, I supported him in the back. We looked at each other silently before he stroked my cheek very slowly and gently. I raised my head towards his face and whispered:

„Are you still afraid of suffocating?“

His lips were close to forming a protesting „what?“, but he leaned in before speaking and licked my lips naughtily. I felt thunderbolts in my stomach before I opened my lips slightly. The tip of Francis‘s exploring tongue caressed the inside of my lips before it found my own tongue. We exhaled both loudly while our tongues started their sensuous dance. I pressed him closer to me while we started kissing for real. I don‘t know how long we balanced on the poor chair when Francis got up, took my hand and drew me towards the couch. We tumbled kissing through the room until we collapsed on the sofa. I rolled on top of him and started to cover his neck and cheek with soft, moist kisses. He leaned his head back in rapture. I unbuttoned his shirt as far as possible to get a better view of his delicate, thin neck before kissing it again. Francis moaned and groped for me, clenched in my sweater and slowly undulated under me. I matched his movements and felt his palpable excitement as well as he must feel mine. When his hands roamed over my butt and pressed me tighter into him, I covered his lips with mine again, passionately and breathless. We panted between kisses, tore at each other‘s hair, forgot everything around us. 

 

Matters progressed slowly and rapidly at the same time after we had reached a certain point. I still feel drunk on love and kisses if I try to remember this first night together, and the events blur in my overwhelmed mind. One moment, we rolled around the sofa fully clothed. The next, I felt Francis‘s exploring fingers under my undershirt after the better part of our clothes lay discarded next to the sofa. I remember taking his socks off and kissing his foot – my next vision is of both of us naked, me reclining on my back while he closed his lips around my cock and I tangled my fingers in his hair. Frenzied attempts to get the blanket under our hips in order to prevent lasting damage to the sofa alternated with whole minutes erased from my memory because I was somewhere else, lost myself in all the sweetness and pleasure Francis gave me. We couldn‘t blame too much alcohol or other substances this night – we were fairly sober when we started, but intoxicated by sensual love to a degree that I have real blackouts of everything that had happened.

 

When we calmed down, when our breathing and writhing and deep kissing ceased and I held a sweaty, panting Francis in my arms, I saw it with sudden clarity: this must be what Julian meant when talking about losing the self. To abandon every guard, every restraint and let go completely. Unite completely with someone else, be it a man or woman or some higher, abstract idea. I felt as if I came back from a long, long journey. Exhausted, but happy. I inhaled while I watched Francis. His eyes were closed, but he squeezed my naked shoulder where his hand rested. He was even more beautiful in the light of the candles and the fire than I had imagined. When I had undressed him completely earlier, I needed some minutes to just enjoy the view, trace his outlines almost in disbelief – it was as if I were suddenly allowed to touch a priced painting in a museum, as if the alarm was suddenly turned off for me alone to allow me this rare pleasure. He looked even more ethereal without clothes. Pale skin, soft as silk, bony angles he hid by senuous movements. Those luscious, inviting lips. He was that beautiful that I feared I might not be enough for him, might not be in a position to match all that goodness. But his actions soon dispersed all my doubts – we were a perfect match that brought each other to the highest heights of pleasure, already in the first night and even more in the following ones when we got to know each other‘s secret spots better. There was no-one under whose fingers I desired to melt more than under his.

 

I laid my head onto a cushion to get a better view of him. Francis sighed and languidly rolled onto his side. The firelight flickered on his shoulder, the smooth skin of his upper arms, his lightly flushed cheek. He looked perfect in that light. I let my hand slowly wander down his side, graced his tiny waist, his delicate hips, and enjoyed the glow of the candles on him. He leaned in to kiss me, wet and warm, before moving back again. We didn‘t need any words at that point, but I asked him anyway:

„Are you happy?“

He nodded, closing his eyes indulgantly and pursing his lips. „Are you?“

„Yes“, I sighed. He opened his eyes and looked at me calmly before closing them again sleepily. I drew him into my arms. We spent the better part of that night on the sofa before retiring to the upstairs bedroom somewhere in the small hours of the morning. We took a drowsy shower and were ready to sleep actually only to start anew once we had reached the bed. So much hunger. So much to catch up on, I thought when I frantically pressed his slim body to mine.

 

 

************************************

 

 

When morning dawned, we barely registered the additional feet of snow that had piled up outside over night: Francis returned from the bathroom with a small bottle of lube he had had stashed among his numerous toiletries, and our intimate explorations started anew and on a different level. Or should I say: in different depth? We were still dazed and addicted to feeling each other even closer, couldn‘t stop playing out all possible variations. I hadn‘t known such a variety was possible, always had assumed men would keep their chosen roles. Francis taught me already in these first thirsty, insatiable days that giving and taking can happen in turns. I still can‘t say if I enjoy it more to be inside him or to open my body for him – we are both, and at the same time we are one and the same. Loving him had a arresting, breathtaking aspect of a complete metaphysical union, regardless from which angle we reached it.

 

We almost forgot to eat that day. Certainly drank not enough, skipped breakfast and lunch and stayed in bed until daylight got weaker and we had reached another evening. As it was still snowing, we didn‘t even talk about leaving. When we finally got up, aired the room and took turns in the shower, it was time to turn on the lights downstairs again. I sparked the fire again while Francis made tea and toast. He looked pale and shaky when he joined me on the couch:

„Wow. What a marathon. My legs!“ We grinned at each other. The toast, the sugar and carbs revived me instantly. I was more ravenous as I had been aware of and got up to fix us another plate. While the bread was in the toaster, I peeled and sliced two oranges also. Francis slouched on the couch, looking into the fire with sparkling eyes. Everyone else would have looked messy and unkempt in such a position – he seemed like a pure work of art. I kneeled on the floor and fed him an orange:

„I love going to bed with you.“

He nodded and tousled my hair: „Let‘s do it again soon.“

„You can‘t be serious?“, I cried and laughed when I saw his smirking face. 

„No, I need a break myself“, he admitted. „Besides, we should call the others, don‘t you think? They expected us back for dinner. Guess Charles already started those lamb chops he‘s so fond of...“

„Just – some more minutes“, I begged, leaned my head back into him and enjoyed his hands on my shoulders. Reality would catch up with us soon enough and I wanted to stay in this glittering bubble a little longer.

 

 

Camilla, who answered the phone, immediately started to ask suspicious questions. Female intuition? She found we both sounded too giddy to be in a emergency and wanted to know in detail how we had spent the time all alone and isolated in a house in wintery upstate Vermont. When I told her what Francis had cooked so far, she announced she‘d come over. Francis started to describe her the wine we had had and what bottle he had reserved for the spaghetti dinner tonight when I suddenly heard Henry‘s gruffy voice:

„What do you mean, you won‘t be there tomorrow? Taking a break right after christmas break? How are we to sell this to Julian? And then – both of you?“

Francis held the old telephone some inches from his ear while he flinched at me. Charles chimed in:

„Aren‘t you bored to death?“

Francis raised an eyebrow to me and replied:

„Actually, no. We are amusing ourselves just fine. Richard has got hidden talents“ - with that, he covered my crotch with one hand - „we never heard about.“ I shook my head and signalled for him to stop. He grinned naughtily when we heard Camilla‘s voice recapture the line:

„Don‘t worry, there might even be snow days ahead. We had a real blizzard here. Julian called Henry to tell him he might not be able to drive over. Certainly not tomorrow. So – take all the time you need!“

I heard an angrily mumbled „She shouldn‘t encourage them to separate themselves like this“ from Henry in the background when I took the receiver. I exchanged some pleasantries with Camilla and told her to send my love to the others while Francis naughtily nibbled on my ear. When I gasped and giggled involuntarily, Camilla asked alarmed:

„Are you all right? You sound so strange?“, to which Francis replied: „Sorry, Richard found the wine already. Love you!“ He blew a loud kiss through the phone and continued with a wet and sloppy one on my cheek. I looked at him and he kissed me once more:

„Better to let them assume we are just hanging around here, getting drunk.“

 

 

*******************************************

 

 

Sunday night brought more snow, and we spent all of Monday in the same fashion as the day before: mainly in bed or on the couch in front of the fireplace, exploring each other, licking and kissing and biting and bringing each other to dizzying heights again and again. Once, I was close to passing out due to over-excitement and lack of oxygen. I had never had such intense encounters in bed. It was almost scary how deeply Francis touched my body and my soul, how he managed to find the very essence of me. 

 

 

Monday had been the first day without any new snow. When Tuesday dawned, equally frozen and like suspended in air, with still gray skies that lacked the alarming slowly building clouds, we decided we had to take babysteps back into civilization, meet other humans for a change. And get a well-earned hearty breakfast in town. We walked again as we were both not motivated to dig out the car – I‘d do so later on, before shoveling the entrance one last time. How much had happened in three days! We looked at each other, happy and giddy, and even dared to hold and swing hands when we were sure to be alone. The streets looked fine, also in town, and we realized our arcadian days in seclusion would soon be over.

 

 

Anna, with whom we checked in first, confirmed that the forecasts were favourable to our departure. She had heard from a friend that the interstate was clear, also the access roads. We arranged to stay one more night, to be on the safe side. She told us to leave on the radiators as she would spend the next weekend in the house with her roommate to prevent further freezing and dampness. 

I shovelled the entrance to the library once more while Francis got some more groceries for our last day. We ate breakfast ravenous, even Francis, before heading back and resuming our luscious, unrestrained lovemaking. We both marvelled at how much we wanted each other and wondered how we would get through normal college days. Clothed, not in bed all the time, without sex for hours on end…

„We should take a term off. Just to have sex any time we want“, Francis declared after he had rolled on top of me. I let my hands wander down his naked back and rested them on his smooth tiny butt. I loved it to cup it and dictate him my rhythm by pressing him into me. He responded wordlessly and I whispered into his curls:

„I always want you naked. Never again clothed.“

„Wonder what the others might say. And Julian.“ I kissed his shoulder. It glowed soft and golden in the flickering firelight.

„Let‘s move to the Caribbean“, I suggested and stroked his butt again. 

He raised himself onto the elbows and looked at me affectionately:

„Sounds tempting. But that‘s it with honeymooning for now, I‘m afraid.“

„No, we still have one evening… And one night...“

I flipped us both over and crawled down to leave a trail of kisses on his stomach. Looking up, I saw his expectant, languid eyes on me. I smoothed his legs apart, bent his knees gently upwards and lowered my lips over his balls.


End file.
